Let's again snark scathingly about time-wasting, complicated, attention-seeking women on the checkout line.

Afterwork today there were two registers open at the small market on my way home. The shorter line had one sexy slut fat granny. In her big cart (nobody takes a cart in this shop) were 3 cases of crappy sweet Italian Spumante plus 6 loose bottles of same, and a couple miscellaneous garbage food items, with a flashy lamé eyeglasses case forbiddingly hidden under a large pack of assorted luncheon meats. She didn't put anything on the belt. Her engagement with the cashier started with a receipt, which had to be laboriously extracted from her sequinned purse from her faux Vuitton bag (sequins and brown Vuitton??), and there was a favour to be demanded of the cashier. A favour which had been arranged a few days ago with "YOUR manager" and then you can imagine all the complications of that cart and and its items and that hidden lamé eyeglass case. With grim fascination, like violent and bloody highway accident, I determined to wait out the entire, rather than switch cashiers. Well, a dozen customers checked out while she still hadn't finished her transaction. Then we had the exciting late plot complication of the non-working card then the "oh, this is just the wrong card, could you please void it so I can use my special card" and then before entering the pin, pulling out the card, a second before the mercantile Jouissance, to reanimate the previous negotiation of the favour.